Gallows Humor
by HappyChaos3D
Summary: Suffering from a bullet wound, carrying the guilt of a hunt gone wrong while worrying about his brother’s sanity and safety and with only two months to live, Dean’s situation is rather hopeless. Just as he thinks it can't get any worse...
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Suffering from a bullet wound, carrying the guilt of a hunt gone wrong while worrying about his brother's sanity and safety and with only two months to live, Dean's situation is rather hopeless. The demons on their trail do not help matters one bit.

**Spoilers: **Set immediately after _Jus in Bello_ so anything prior to that episode is fair game.

**Disclaimer:** _Supernatural_ and all the characters you recognize are not mine. However I do own the DVD's, but I don't think that counts.

**A/N: **I wasn't planning on starting another chapter fic until I finished my other one, but I couldn't resist. I guess I just wanted to get this up before the new episode aired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And don't let the title fool you, this is in no way humorous story, don't know why but I just thought I'd mention it. And so, without further ado, here it is my latest story. Enjoy.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Gallows Humor**

Dean sat on the foot of his bed and closed his eyes, absorbing the information he'd learned from the news and from Ruby. He screwed up, and everyone died. All those people he tried so hard to save… gone. Dead, because he wasn't willing to sacrifice one life, the life of a sweet girl who as it turned out, died anyway. His plan worked though. It worked. But he still failed.

Opening his eyes he saw Sam was watching him, his face was unreadable. Of course, it was hard to read Sam lately. His eyes betrayed anger and concern, both emotions directed at Dean. Wordlessly Dean met his gaze and in his expression conveyed that Dean was sorry. Sorry for screwing up, for coming up with a plan that ultimately failed, sorry for putting Sam through so much pressure because of the deal. Maybe it was better when Dean was resigned to his fate, maybe it would've made it easier for Sam to let him go. But then he had to open his mouth and confess that he didn't want to die after all. It only seemed to add to Sam's stress. On the other hand, wasn't that what Sam wanted? For him to admit he's scared?

To say that Dean was confused would be an understatement. Sam was different, and he did not like what he saw. Whether Sam had come back wrong… well the jury was still out on that one. Maybe he wasn't 100 percent Sammy, more like 99.9 percent, because he was still his Sam, just different. Although wasn't that to be expected? Sam had _died_. While he may not remember being dead, or dying, a trauma like that had to be lurking somewhere in his subconscious.

Although Dean hadn't died—except for last Tuesday, but that didn't count, he remembered absolutely none of that—his dances with death had changed him. And knowing that both times his life had come at the cost of another… well who wouldn't be affected by that knowledge? And while no one had died in Sam's place yet, knowing what was to come would indeed stain his outlook on life.

Of course Sam had changed over the past week. He seemed to have hardened considerably, ever since last Tuesday. But Dean had to admit, if he had to watch helplessly as Sam died over and over, he'd be a little crazy as well. Well, crazier, since Dean could admit that losing Sam once had already successfully made Dean a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Perhaps that was why, as irritating as it was, Dean didn't protest the fact that ever since last Tuesday, Sam's been keeping a watchful eye on him, as though he'd drop dead any moment.

Although ever since last Tuesday, Sam's priorities have been out of whack. Dean still couldn't believe that his Sammy seemed to have seriously considered sacrificing Nancy. Sam was supposed to be the voice of reason and morality, the one who came up with the plans that kept them from crossing the line. But thinking about it, Dean realized Sam has been teetering on that line ever since he came back, but it had always happened in the moment, like when Dean was trapped with Casey and that priest, or when he began spewing blood. At the station, it was different. Sam was too quick to accept option A, as wrong as it was without even considering that there might be an option B.

"How's the shoulder?" Sam asked dully.

"Fine Sam," Dean lied. Truth was, it hurt like hell. Nancy did a great job patching him up at the station, but the battle that followed only made the wound worse. It had been easy to ignore it as they prepared for battle, and during the battle itself, but when the adrenaline subsided, Dean had been harshly reminded of how much it hurt. Dean redressed it after he showered, it was a little sloppy in the back, but he had still been too angry with Sam, despite their supposed victory, to ask for his help.

Now he was just confused and hurt over learning about Nancy and Hendrickson's deaths and at the absurd thought that maybe Sam and Ruby were right. The fleeting thought brought bile to his throat. He gagged and swallowed, trying to keep control of himself, trying to fight the pain-induced nausea left magnified by his guilt. No. No matter what the outcome, sacrificing an innocent would've been wrong. He was not going to leave this world a cold-blooded killer, no matter how noble the intentions might have been.

"Dean?" Sam jumped to his feet and put his hand on Dean's good shoulder, worried about his sudden distress.

"I'm fine," Dean repeated wearily, tasting the bile in his mouth and swallowing hard. He waved Sam off and muttered, "I think I need a drink."

"This early in the day?"

"I don't care."

Sam nodded in surrender, "OK. Where should we go?"

"Alone Sam," Dean met Sam's eyes and glared. Damn, he was so angry, and hurt and felt betrayed, and his mind was reeling from confusion, as he had no idea where to direct those emotions. Should he be angry with Sam? With himself? Was he betrayed by Sam? Ruby? Both? Or was he the betrayer?

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sam asked, "After what happened?"

"We sent the demons to Hell Sam, I'll be fine," Dean replied.

"There's at least one more out there," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, that's right, your new big bad who sees you as their competition! Why didn't you tell me Sam?" Dean sounded more betrayed than angry.

Sam sighed, "I didn't think it was relevant."

Dean snorted, his anger surfacing, "Don't think it's relevant? A new demon that's out to get you? Sam, you sound more and more like Dad, keeping secrets like that. I have every right to know."

"I'm not the only one who had been keeping secrets," Sam muttered, "You didn't tell me about what Dad said to you before he died until months later, and the only reason you told me about the deal you made was because I figured it out."

"I guess keeping secrets is just a Winchester thing," Dean grumbled bitterly, "Besides, I was only trying to protect you."

Sam raised his voice, "Don't you think maybe I was trying to protect you?"

"I'm not the one who needs to be protected Sam, I'm not the one with an army of demons who either want to kill you or make you their fearless leader!" Dean snapped.

"Well I'm not the one with an expiry date coming up in a few months!" Sam retorted.

"And that's your excuse for keeping this from me?" Dean hissed, "Like it or not Sam, my fate is sealed and as much as I'd like to think that there's a way out for me, we have to be realistic. My time is running short and we need to work together to make sure I didn't acquire a one-way ticket to Hell in vain. That wasn't protecting me, keeping that a secret only makes it harder to prepare for this war. It was a stupid move and you know it!"

"Well sorry if there's been more pressing matters on my mind, like saving your ass! You're talking as though you think you're expendable."

"Maybe I am. I don't like it, so don't get me wrong, but the demons are after you. Not me, you. I'm just…cannon fodder."

"Cannon fodder? Don't talk like that!" Sam snapped.

"Well it's true. Something happens to you? We lose. Something happens to me, no big deal."

"No big deal? Then why did that demon shoot you last night? Huh? He could've easily put a bullet through my shoulder, but he didn't," Sam argued, "He went after you. Besides, it's a big deal to me Dean," Sam's voice dropped, "I don't want to lose you. I won't be able to handle it."

"Sure you will," Dean sighed, not wanting to hear it. "It will be hard at first, but you'll be fine."

"No," Sam said, cutting him off with conviction, "I won't. I think the demons know that."

Dean faced his brother and studied him. Sam stared back with complete earnestness and fear on his face. Dean was taken aback at how certain Sam was about that statement and there was something there in Sam's eyes that worried him, a look that had been absent up until last week. Wearily Dean replied, "Sam, is there anything else you've been keeping from me? Because if there is, I'd like to know."

"No," Sam said quickly.

He was lying, of that Dean was certain. Dean sat there a minute, watching him, waiting for Sam to cave and tell the truth, but it didn't happen. It pissed him off and every second that passed only fueled the fire.

"Are you OK Dean?" Sam asked finally.

"No," Dean snapped, "I'm not OK! After what happened, how can I possibly be OK? We failed Sam, we failed big time."

"I mean you don't look so good," Sam said softly, "maybe I should look at your shoulder."

"It's fine Sam," Dean huffed, grabbing his jacket with his good arm. As much as the hole in his shoulder hurt like hell, it was a pain that he welcomed. It distracted him from the pain and anger and confusion of the previous night's events—shit, the past ten months if he was completely honest with himself—that chipped away at his soul. Physical pain he could deal with, the other kind, not so much. "I'll see you in an hour." He stormed out of the room, ignoring Sam who was calling after him, asking him to be careful.

Dean reached the Impala and unlocked the door with shaky hands and climbed in. He sat there for a moment, digging his palms in his eyes in an attempt to still the physical hurt and wild emotions threatening to manifest. He had to keep it together. He had to be strong. His time was drawing frighteningly short, and there was so much to do. Damn, he needed that drink!

With determination he thrust the key in the ignition, or at least he tried. The trembling in his hands meant he had to make a few attempts before the key actually made it. He relaxed slightly at the sound of the familiar rumble of the Impala, and closed his eyes. Even if the world was going to pot, even if everything else in his life was coming apart at the seams, he always took solace in the one thing in his life that remained constant, the one thing that would never let him down. There were some days when the Impala acted as his armor, protecting him when the walls he built around himself had been breeched, and goodness knows, those walls were on the verge of crumbling at that moment. But as he sat there, Dean realized that at that moment not even the Impala, his sanctuary, could protect him and ease his anxiety.

He sat there for a minute or so, trying to collect himself but when he glanced at the hotel room and saw Sam watching him he scowled and drove off. Where he was going he had no idea, but there had to be somewhere in that town that served alcohol at eleven o'clock in the morning.

He pulled into a 'Denny's' and ordered himself a piece of toast and a beer. He knew he shouldn't be having any alcohol the way his stomach seemed to be churning, but he was in pain, in more ways than one. He wasn't an alcoholic, he was a casual drinker at most, but since he was having a difficult time trusting the only person he normally could count on, he needed that drink. Maybe it could dull his senses enough to cope.

Dean was so deep in thought, he hardly noticed when the waitress, Amanda, a cute, perky, petite, blonde gave him his toast and beer and then attempted to flirt with him. She was exactly the kind of girl Dean went for when seeking a one-night stand, but Nancy, meeting Nancy, saving Nancy and then losing Nancy was too fresh in his memory, and pressed too hard on his conscience.

Nancy was not his usual type, but in the short time he knew her, she made a huge impression. Not just because the thought that a pretty girl like her was a virgin baffled him, but because of her sweetness, her innocence. He'd never forget the kindness she had shown him when she thought he was a dangerous felon. Even though she was scared of him and Sam at the time, she still had shown him mercy by giving him the towel for his wound. She certainly didn't have to, and on some level, he was still a little guilty for the actions Sam took to get her rosary.

It was hard to believe that she and Hendrickson were really gone. He bonded with them in ways that to Dean were rare. With Hendrickson, once he saw first hand that Dean and Sam were telling the truth about their life and what they hunted, Dean saw a version of himself in the FBI agent. In many ways their lives were the same, they fought, and fought to make the world a safer place, but there was little reward. Dean could honestly say it was an honor fighting alongside his old adversary. He had hoped to do it again sometime. It would've been nice to have an ally in Hendrickson's position, but most importantly, Hendrickson had in a short time become his friend, and friends were hard to come by in their line of work.

And then there was Nancy. Never had a woman touched him in a way she did which was ironic because their short-lived relationship was purely platonic. Dean didn't think he could have an honest, loving relationship with a woman that didn't involve a lot of alcohol and an understanding that he'd be out the door and out of her life when the sun came up. His lot in life didn't allow anything more, and he longed for it so badly. Sure there was Jo, but she was different. Thought Jo might disagree, to Dean she was in a way like a cousin that he saw once in a while, but nothing more. And she lacked the tenderness that Nancy possessed. Nancy and Jo both patched up the same shoulder, hit in almost the same spot. Whereas Jo was rough, Nancy was amazingly gentle. She had a healer's touch and he thought she should've been a doctor or a nurse instead of a secretary at a police station. It wasn't that he had fallen in love with her, because that wasn't really the case. She was just special. If ever there was a woman he wanted to really, honestly know, it was she. She represented all that was good in the world, and protecting her meant everything to him.

When they fled the police station, no longer fugitives, no longer Winchesters, the drive to the next town was victorious. Yes, Dean was mad at Sam for keeping the demon Lilith a secret from him, and for briefly considering Ruby's plan before Dean presented an alternate plan, but knowing that they had succeeded in saving all those possessed people without hurting Nancy made it easy to push aside his anger. Sure, Sam's subtle change in behavior was beginning to scare him, but that was something he thought he could deal with because everything had turned out all right until Ruby burst in that morning and had them turn on the news.

Dean sighed heavily and bit the inside of his lip. So many innocent lives had been lost, and Dean just couldn't shake the guilt. He should've done more to ensure that they would be safe after he and Sam left, but hindsight was twenty-twenty, and Dean had no reason to think they'd still be in danger at the time. But still…he should've done more.

A wave of pain originating from his gunshot wound coursed through him suddenly. It caused the nausea that had been taunting him all morning to suddenly intensify and he swallowed compulsively in an attempt to keep from vomiting right there on the table. The throbbing in his shoulder sent mild tremors down his arm and he had to grab his wrist to keep his arm steady. Dean blinked a few times as spots began to cloud his vision. He was in worse shape than he thought.

"Hey, are you OK?" Amanda the waitress asked, "You're like, really pale."

"'M f-fine," Dean replied, with a gasp as he shut his eyes tight, took a few deep breaths and willed the spasm to cease.

"Are you sure because you look like you need a doctor or something," she insisted.

Dean tried his best to smile at her but the pain in his expression was too evident, "Just some water, please, that would be great." Amanda seemed unsure, but she nodded and left.

Breathing methodically, Dean rose to his feet and felt the room spin and he became aware of warm moisture on his back that hadn't been there before. When he felt steady and sure enough, he headed to the men's room to wash his face, wishing he had the brains to take some painkillers. The stuff he had taken hours before had worn off long ago, and with all that was going on, he opted to let it hurt in a weak attempt to distract him from the emotional turmoil he didn't want to deal with. But now the pain was striking with a vengeance and it was almost to the point of being unbearable.

By the time he reached the restroom, he was sweating profusely and felt shaky and chilled. He caught his reflection in the mirror and groaned at the sight before him. He was sheet white, and the florescent lighting only enhanced the ghastliness of his pallor. Splashing his face with water didn't help like he had hoped and he had a sudden need to sit down, but settled for crouching low as he leaned against the wall and gripped the sink for support.

Trembling he tried to get back up on his feet, but trying made him slide back down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. The reflection from one of the mirrors revealed a streak of red that followed his movement down the wall and Dean realized that the exit wound on his back had re-opened.

_Great,_ he thought bitterly, _now on top of everything else, I'm about to pass out in the middle of a friggin' 'Denny's' bathroom! What else can go wrong?_

As he struggled to stay conscious, the smell of sulfur reached his nostrils and before the significance of that scent could fully process, he heard a loud crash followed by a series of screams.

Dean chuckled humorlessly and thought, _I just had to ask._

TBC

-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N Thank you for taking the time to read, now please, click on that button and leave a review. It would make me so very happy, and it feeds the muse.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **Just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed! Makes my day. Seriously. Here's the next chapter, not as shockingly awesome as the season finale (Holy Crap!) but I hope you'll enjoy anyway.

**Chapter Two**

Sam turned off the TV. The events in Monument Colorado were still considered breaking news and just about every channel was covering the disaster at the police station. He did not want to hear any more about the explosion that he and Dean both knew to be the work of a demon, one that was after them.

Sam couldn't blame Dean for being pissed off after what happened. They did screw up. By following Dean's plan, one of the demons got away and compromised them. But there was no way of knowing that Ruby's plan would've worked either. Sam was feeling pretty pissed off at Ruby for being such a bitch about it. Seeing the bitter fruits of their labor was bad enough, but there was no need to rub it in their faces, especially Dean's. Dean always took a failed hunt way too hard and Sam knew that while Dean was out cooling off after their little fight, he was also putting the burden of the tragedy on his shoulders and Dean carried far too much as it was.

Dean shouldn't feel guilty though, because Sam would be the first to admit that Dean's plan was brilliant and it worked beautifully. The only problem was that it allowed for one or more of the demons to escape, and that was what led Lilith to their new friends. Ruby's plan would've killed all of the demons and Lilith may never have found them, but there was no knowing for sure that would be the case. Lilith probably knew all along that Sam was there because the demon that shot Dean was able to get away and gather the army in the first place.

Then again the spell might've killed Lilith as well if she was close enough, and ultimately, the lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few. They were in the midst of a war, and sometimes sacrifices had to be made. However, if they did go through with Ruby's plan, Dean would never forgive himself, and he would never forgive Sam either. Sam shuddered at his indifference to the issue, because Sam knew he could forgive himself if he sacrificed someone for the greater good.

Shit, only a week ago, in a different reality Sam had sacrificed Bobby for the chance to avenge Dean, and to try and get him back. Thankfully, the Bobby he killed a week ago had only been an illusion, and the act existed in a reality that hadn't happened yet, and never would because Dean was alive again. Sam only hoped that was why he didn't feel as guilty as he knew he should. On some level, his indifference scared him, but that was to save his brother, and when it came to saving Dean, there wasn't a line he wouldn't cross.

With a heavy sigh Sam glanced at the clock on the nightstand between the two beds. Dean said he'd be gone an hour, and only thirty-five minutes or so had passed since he stormed off, but Sam was already beginning to worry. Despite his usual mantra about being fine, Dean really didn't look fine. When he left he was too pale for Sam's liking. It bothered Sam that ever since they were released from their cell, Sam hadn't seen Dean's bullet wound. While he was sure that Nancy's ministrations on his shoulder were probably more than adequate, Sam had no idea what further damage may have been inflicted since then. The battle at the station had been pretty intense, and behind his 'I'm fine' mask, Dean seemed to be in a lot of pain.

After they had driven a while and then stopped for the night just as the eastern sky began to turn a shade lighter, Sam offered to redress Dean's wound, but Dean had to be a stubborn ass. Sam knew Dean was mad at him for keeping what he knew about Lilith a secret, and for considering Ruby's plan and up until Ruby informed them of what happened after they left the station, was trying to repress that anger, but refusing to let Sam help was going too far. Yes, Dean was capable of dealing with his own wounds, but how was Dean going to possibly clean and dress the exit wound on his back properly? Sam was angry with Dean for letting his anger possibly affect his health. There was so much to do, and so little time that the last thing they needed was for Dean to fall seriously ill because he was too proud and angry and stubborn to let Sam look at his damn wound!

_I don't care how pissed he is at me, as soon as he gets back I'm looking at that shoulder,_ Sam vowed, _and then we're having a talk. I don't care what he says._

Not even Sam's frustration could deflate his growing worry for Dean. Sam understood his brother's need to cool off, but after everything that went down last night, and after what happened a few months ago—last week, Sam reminded himself, the thing with the Trickster and the shooting happened last week—Sam wasn't sure Dean taking off on his own while injured was the best idea.

"Dean can take care of himself," Sam declared out loud in an attempt to still his worry. It didn't work, because even though Dean had always been the one who took charge whether he was injured or not, it was Sam's turn now. For a little over three months, Sam had lived in a world without Dean, and it was a dark, terrifying world, a world in which he did not want to live in ever again. It was Sam's turn to take charge and be the protective brother, he owed that to Dean and if Sam couldn't get Dean out of his deal somehow… Sam wasn't sure how he could cope. He didn't want to think about what he would do.

Sam's phone began to ring and he grabbed it quickly, hoping it was Dean. But the call display told him it was Bobby. He swallowed hard, trying to shake the memory of what he did to his friend in a different reality, "Hey Bobby."

A huge sigh of relief came through the receiver and Sam heard Bobby exclaim, "Sam Winchester, thank god! What the hell happened boy? I heard on the news that you were dead!"

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Sam replied quietly with a small chuckle.

Bobby wasn't amused. "Dean OK?"

"Yeah," Sam said, _relatively speaking._

"So what happened? I'd bet my life savings that there was no gas leak that caused the explosion—it was demons wasn't it? How did Hendrickson get the drop on you? Did you get the Colt back?"

"Whoa, one question at a time Bobby!" Sam interrupted, "First of all, no we didn't get the Colt back. It was a set up courtesy of Bela…"

"That bitch!"

Sam agreed readily and then proceeded to give Bobby the condensed version of what happened the night before. He left out the part where Dean got shot since he didn't want to worry the old man, and he left out the part with Ruby as he wasn't in the mood for Bobby to chew his head off for trusting her.

"Damn," Bobby breathed, "but you boys are OK, right?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Sam answered meekly.

"Where's Dean? I tried calling him but I couldn't get through. He there with you?"

"No," Sam sighed, "He went out to get us breakfast."

"OK then," Bobby said, and Sam could practically hear his frown coming through the receiver, "Glad you boys are still in one piece. I'll keep in touch."

"Sure," Sam replied, "Thanks for calling." He flipped his phone shut and frowned. Sam didn't put his phone down though, he just stared at it, thinking about what Bobby said about not being able to get through when he tried calling Dean. Dean wouldn't be so stupid as to turn off his phone, would he? Sam flipped his phone open again and tried to call Dean. It immediately went to voice mail. Sam shut his phone again.

"Dean!" he muttered out loud to no one, "If you're not answering because you're pissed off I'm kicking your ass because this is not the time damn it!"

The nagging feeling that something was wrong though wouldn't cease and Sam glanced at the door, and then at the clock with indecision. Dean wouldn't turn off his phone and break communication so soon after what happened. He may be pissed off at Sam for keeping Lilith a secret, but now that he knew about the demon that was after Sam, Dean would be in full on protective mode and that meant he wouldn't go far, and he wouldn't turn his phone off.

_"Dean's your weakness, and the bad guys know that."_

The Trickster's words replayed in his head and Sam's breath hitched. Dean had expressed that fact too, and it was a fact Sam understood all too well.

"Fine," he breathed, muttering under his breath, trying to hide his concern from his features even though there was no one there to see, "Twenty more minutes. I'll give you twenty minutes. I don't care how pissed off you are."

Sam sat there for five minutes, fidgeting the entire time. _Damn it!_ He grabbed his jacket and was out the door, unsure of where to look, but not caring. He just couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong.

-0-o-0-o-0-

_Focus Dean, focus._

John Winchester's voice echoed through Dean's brain. It was the voice that Dean's mind conjured up when he needed an extra boost of motivation and needed to dig deep in order to find the strength to stand and fight.

Lately though John's voice was beginning to sound more and more like Dean's, and while he never truly thought about it, deep down it saddened him that he was starting to forget what his father's voice sounded like. But this voice was definitely his father's because Dean Winchester didn't have any fight in him left for reasons that went above and beyond his wounded shoulder. Life in general had made him just so…tired.

The voice in his head that sounded like his father faded and Dean's eyes fluttered closed. The sweet pull of unconsciousness beckoned to him and dared him to forget his pain, his guilt, his life…and the fact that in less than two months he'll be burning in Hell.

No. No! This wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity and pain. This wasn't the time to give in to the inviting arms of sleep. The commotion just on the other side of the door was chaotic from the sounds of things, and he'd be no help to anyone if he passed out.

_Focus damn it! _Dean snapped inwardly as he fought desperately to stay conscious. He grasped the bathroom sink and pulled himself up using his good arm. He made it half way when he suddenly and uncontrollably lost the meager contents of his stomach and fell back down. _Come on, get up!_ He scolded himself.

From his spot on the floor Dean checked his waistband for his .45 but left it there, knowing it wouldn't be of any help against the demon or demons that were attacking, but knowing it was there in reach was reassuring. Then he reached for his phone to call Sam and make sure he was OK and then tell him to get his ass over there for backup but his phone was out of service.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

The lights flickered on and off, the scent of sulfur, iron and burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils as the screaming sounds beyond the door faded into whimpers and sobs indicating there were still survivors. The attack was swift, and Dean felt instant remorse for his weakened and useless state. Without a weapon that was useful against demons, he was essentially naked_, _and Dean found himself wishing for some holy water or something. He cursed himself—it wasn't like him to go anywhere unprepared, though he doubted his flask of holy water would be enough, but it would be something. Then he silently cursed Bela for stealing the Colt, even though that weapon, to Dean, was a last resort.

Taking a deep breath Dean slowly pulled himself to his feet. His vision went topsy-turvy for a moment once he was vertical, and his knees buckled but he was able to catch himself. Despite still feeling a little shaky, Dean had been able to fight through much worse and he focused on the danger just beyond the door and the innocent lives that were at stake, which managed to provide him with all the adrenaline he needed to push his way through the mild shock that had been settling in his system. He could rest later.

Just before he could open the door, it burst open with enough force to send Dean flying and break the door from its hinges. He landed hard against the opposite wall, his injured shoulder hitting one of the hand dryers. He bit back a cry as the impact sent white-hot pain to circuit through him as he slid limply to the floor. Before he could move, or even see his assailant, an invisible pull tugged at his shoulders and he was thrown mercilessly through the door where he slammed his head against the wall.

Dark spots clouded his vision as he slumped to the side, unable to do much else at the moment but lie on the cold tile floor, clutching his shoulder, which was now bleeding from both the entry and exit wound. A cold tremble coursed through him, his forehead and shoulder throbbed with the rapid beat of his heart and blood from his forehead began to seep into his right eye. It suddenly became hard to think and he blinked sluggishly, seeing for the first time, through his blurred vision his demonic attackers.

A redhead with oily black orbs knelt beside him, and standing above her as though on guard, were two men. They were too out of focus to see the eyes, but Dean knew they were possessed. He blinked again and caught sight of a flash of silver in the redhead's hands. Focusing on the object Dean realized it was a butter knife and she held it up dangerously.

"Dean Winchester," she purred, her voice husky and smooth, saying his name with a lust filled hate. She grabbed his collar and forced him into a sitting position.

He smirked, eyeing the dull knife in her hand, "What'cha gonna do with that sweetheart? Butter me to death?"

She grinned wickedly, her tongue caressed her upper teeth and she knelt down close and shoved the dull blade into the bullet hole in his shoulder. Dean bit his lip, forcing himself to keep from crying out. "Sounds kinky, but no," she replied with a breathy laugh. She stared at him, demanding eye contact when he let his eyes close. She shook him, jarring the knife in his wound and hissed, "Look at me Dean."

He glared back. His tired eyes lacked the usual fire that burned in the face of danger. The fire still reflected in his eyes, revealing that he wasn't completely broken, not yet—it would take a lot to break Dean Winchester—but the flame was a small, weakened flicker. His eyes were dull, they were old, they were the eyes of a man at the end of his rope. His weariness, his hopelessness did not go unnoticed by her, and she smirked.

"You're a worthless failure Dean," she cupped his cheek in her palm with a gentle caress, "you couldn't save your father," she twisted the knife with her other hand, and Dean grunted painfully, "you couldn't save your brother," she twisted it again and this time a whimpered cry escaped Dean's lips, "and you won't be able to save yourself," she twisted the knife in the opposite direction, and unable to hold it in any longer, Dean screamed. She let go of his cheek and leaned back, savoring the sight, "And all those people at the station died because of you."

"S-shut up, b-bitch!"

She laughed, "How long do you have left Dean? Two months? It's a pity you won't live to see that your sacrifice was all for nothing."

The dull fire in his eyes flared, "Stay the hell away f-from Sam y-you f-fucking bitch!"

The redhead continued to speak as though he said nothing, "Not even selling your soul is enough to save Sammy." She lifted her black eyes thoughtfully, "Yeah, it is too bad you won't live long enough to see. I'd love to see the look on your face when the darkness finally takes him. He fights it now, but your death will definitely put him over the edge. Are you afraid Dean?" She looked at him, waiting for an answer. Impatient she shook him, twisting the dull blade again, "Answer me!"

"Go to Hell!"

She cocked her head to the side and then laughed, "As tempting as it is to be part of the welcoming party when your time is up, I'd rather not. Now answer me. Are you afraid? Afraid to die? Afraid of what you will one day become? Afraid of what your brother will become? Is becoming?"

Shakily Dean leaned forward and spit in her face.

Bloody saliva ran down her cheek but she ignored it, "I suppose that in the end it will work out for you, because Sammy's on the right path to damnation because of you. Someday you'll both be like me, and we can be one big happy family. Sure, you'll go about it the hard way, centuries of torture and all, but not Sam. He's the lucky one. I'll bet you that one look at your bloody corpse and Sam will embrace the gift that my father gave him."

"Meg?"

She grinned.

He snorted, "You don't know Sam very well, he won't."

"You're right," Meg shrugged, "he might not live long enough. But I've been inside him, I've played with his soul, I've seen the beautiful darkness within him, tempting him. And you want to know a secret Dean? You were the only thing keeping him from embracing it."

"You're wrong you fucking bitch!" he snapped, pulling the knife from his shoulder and smacking her across the face with the blunt end.

A trickle of blood dripped down her temple, she put her fingers to her head and frowned. But as she pulled her fingers away and peered at the blood there, she smirked and licked them off seductively as though her fingers were covered in milk chocolate and this was merely foreplay. She ran her teeth across her lower lip and let her tongue lap up a smudge of blood on the corner of her mouth and then said, "I'll wager that he's already on the brink, isn't he? He's probably broken a few rules here and there, crossed a line or two. Nothing major, yet, but he's becoming desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures, am I right?"

The fire in Dean's eyes that had moments before been just a weakened flicker now burned brightly with rage. Deep down he knew, he _knew_ that Meg was right, but he refused, _refused_ to believe that Sam would go too far. There was too much good in him. Dean knew Sam better than anyone and Sam Winchester was a good man. There was too much light in him to outweigh the dark. He wouldn't…not even to save Dean. Dean would never forgive him if he did…but she had a point. But she had to be wrong, she just had to be…

"Shut the fuck up you bitch!"

She snickered and backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling face first onto the cold tile floor. She grabbed him by the collar and spun him around onto his back, straddling him. She was about to speak but was interrupted by a deep, masculine voice that came from someone behind her, just beyond Dean's line of clouded vision.

"He's not here."

"You sure about that?" Meg snapped.

"Positive," was the reply.

Dean ignored the rest of the dialogue. Instead he closed his eyes and fought back the pain and the pull of unconsciousness and concentrated on his last chance of defense. "_Deus, et Pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et clementian tuam supplex exposco…_" Dean faltered. Ever since his failed attempt at exorcising Casey, Dean had worked on memorizing the ritual. He did have it memorized, but without the book in hand, he couldn't say it with the confidence Sam could and he did not want to mess up. One discrepancy would nullify the exorcism ritual and he'd have to start again.

Meg and her minions flinched and covered their ears, but when Dean stopped as he struggled to remember what came next, he could feel rather than see, sets of black eyes on him. His hesitation gave them the opportunity to strike and he suddenly felt an invisible pressure on his throat, silencing him and blocking his air.

Instinctively Dean's hands shot up to his neck, trying to reach whatever was strangling him even though he knew there was nothing there.

"Where is Sammy, Dean?" Meg demanded impatiently.

Dean just continued to struggle to find air.

"Answer me!" she snapped. She signaled to one of the demons to stop and the pressure was instantly released from his throat but was replaced by her hands. She squeezed, but eased off enough so he could speak, "Where is Sam?"

"…_ut adversus hunc, et omnem…_" Dean continued hoarsely as the words returned to his memory, his eyes glared fiercely at Meg, daring her to make her move. He continued the ritual with newfound confidence.

"Never mind," she huffed, wincing and writhing at the sound of the sacred Latin. Still straddling him, she hit him hard before he had a chance to finish and the unconsciousness that had been beckoning to him finally won out and Dean slipped into a pain filled void of darkness. Meg turned to the other demons, six in all, and shrugged with a triumphant smirk.

TBC…

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**AN **Once again, please leave a review, they feed the muse. My other story, "Consequences" will be updated soon for those following that one. Thanks for reading!


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